CHAPTER 10
In university, hangovers had never been the worst of things to plague him in the early aftermaths of a pub night with Gilbert or Alfred. Today, Ludwig could feel the headache even in his sleep. He tried to groan and wound up in a coughing fit. The act of opening his eyes required as much effort as lifting boulders.
Even while his desiccated eyes struggled to focus, Ludwig knew something was wrong. The ceiling above his head looked different—he was not back in familiar space. He'd always woken up to the same rectangular darkness, enclosed in charcoal grey walls. This room was smaller, painted cream. The blanket he was sweating in wasn't the deep, wine colored duvet that he pulled out of the dryer a week ago. This one was much lighter, in both its weight and sky blue pattern.
Ludwig immediately sat up and regretted doing it so fast. Had Alfred taken him back to his place? All he saw was an empty bookshelf directly ahead, an ancient looking cassette player on the bedside dresser, a window that suspiciously looked like it had bars installed from the outside, and a closed bifold door to a single, nondescript closet. The room felt empty, strangely devoid of personal knick knacks he could use to identify where he was.
By the works of some angel, a large glass of water had been left out on the dresser surface. He brought it to his mouth slowly with shaking hands, not trusting his coordination for any sudden movements. The lukewarm liquid was divine, instantly quenching his thirst and soothing his sandpaper throat. The dehydration headache ebbed to a manageable pulse, nothing that a few ibuprofens couldn't fix.
It was only when absently wiping his sleeve across his mouth did he realize he still wore the same clothes from last night, sans shoes. His socks were still on his feet and his wrinkled sweater still tucked into his jeans. It was clear that nobody had tried to relieve him of his uncomfortable outdoor wear. As if he'd collapsed atop this mystery bed all by himself, its mattress much more firm underneath him than the plush, king-sized one he shared with Ralph.
Oh God. Ralph. Ludwig snatched up his phone lying next to the old cassette player. Saturday, 2:26 PM. The relief and dread collided like two tornadoes in his gut and served to nauseate him all over again. Alfred had spammed him with texts last night, most of them apologies for having to leave early. He guessed that it meant he wasn't in Alfred's home. No surprise there—Ludwig imagined his friend would rather die than give up his maximalist lifestyle.
Google maps told him he was well enough away from Ralph's house, nearly a three hour bus ride back. Nothing else about this nondescript, suburban address told him what he needed. He continued to scroll, desperate for more information before the panic started to really settle in. He reached Alfred's texts from this morning, alongside two missed calls from over an hour ago.
Hey! Again Im so so sorry about yesterday omg. Hope yuo got back alright
Morninggg are you up yet
Gonna come over around 12 is that ok?
Wakeee uppp im here
? Hello
Did ivan get you home last night?
Ludwig shot out of the bed he was in and promptly took a nose-dive to the hardwood floor with a resounding thud. The sheets were bunched around his legs and he fought viciously to detangle himself. Ludwig passed a frantic gaze once more around the spartan room, which he was belatedly discovering to be Ivan's according to those messages.
Why hadn't he been dropped off at Ralph's? Even Gilbert's place would have made more sense. Since when had Ivan been in the picture for a night that was supposed to be only for himself and Alfred? And how did they cross paths again after saying goodbye at The Cozy Cat? Ludwig clutched his head in his hands; nothing made sense. Looking back to the bed, he was even more horrified to see that he had drooled on Ivan's pillow.
Knock, knock. The soft taps on the closed door sounded like a battering ram and Ludwig nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Hello?" The muffled voice was certainly Ivan's, much to his dismay. "I heard a loud noise, are you okay?"
"Yes! Um—" Ludwig cleared the sand in his throat and tried again. "Yes, I'm fine."
"Oh good! The washroom is just outside, feel free to use anything. I left in there a new toothbrush and some clothes."
"Okay," Ludwig said hoarsely. He quickly stripped the pillow of its cover and crumpled it up into a ball.
"I'll be going downstairs now, please take your time."
Ludwig waited until the footsteps faded away and then snuck out of the bedroom as fast as possible. The hallway was filled with the tantalizing smell of something delicious being cooked. His stomach didn't allow him to ignore it, even in his disoriented state.
Just as told, the washroom next door had a brand new toothbrush waiting for him. It sat next to the clean towels and clothes, folded and stacked together with almost mathematical precision. Normally he would have hesitated to use the shower in unfamiliar territory, but the sweater he wore felt too grimy to keep on. The least he could do was maintain proper hygiene inside someone else's house, even if he was aiming to leave as fast as he possibly could.
Ludwig washed himself with the only shampoo and body wash available. He used a bar of soap to thoroughly scrub the pillowcase clean. Some minutes later he jerked back the shower curtain, sopping wet and unsteady on his feet. He left the pillowcase hanging on the towel bar to dry. He wiped the condensation off the walls with his used towels. Through the mirror, his own bloodshot eyes glared back at him, disdainful of the sorry sights presented on display.
He felt his ears warm when he saw Ivan had even provided a change of underwear—plain black boxer shorts. The T-shirt was also black, as well as the joggers and socks underneath. This was an interesting observation, as Ludwig hadn't seen Ivan wear colors any darker than the cappuccinos he was so fond of drinking on their coffee excursions.
He picked up the shirt and pulled it over his head. Everything—the clothes, the towels—smelled of fresh fabric softener. It was soft, botanical, and nothing like the products he used in his and Ralph's laundry. And yet he recognized the unfamiliar, as if he'd encountered it in some distant dream. Ludwig lifted the hem of the shirt to his nose and breathed in slowly.
The closeness of it was similar, but not quite what his body recalled. It had felt... tasted... warmer, more alive. He didn't know what it meant. There was nothing that came to mind except for a funny feeling in places that would have been too embarrassing to describe out loud.
He realized what he was doing then, standing around in nothing but Ivan's shirt with his face buried in its bunched folds. Swearing under his breath, he released the hem and straightened out the wrinkles. It fit him well for something that didn't belong to him, if a little loose around the shoulders and chest. Water dripped from the ends of his damp hair that he'd carelessly combed back. He refastened the belt around his own jeans and pushed back his unruly hair again. There was a stash of plastic bags underneath the sink, and Ludwig shoved his laundry into one of them.
He rarely wore short sleeves outside Ralph's house nowadays. The cold air on his arms made him feel stripped bare in unfamiliar space. Thankfully the aftermath of Ralph's farewell at the beginning of the week was mild and had healed quickly. As long as he didn't walk around with his palms up in the air, the rope burns were unnoticeable. Ludwig stole a few bandaids from the first aid kit buried under the plastic bags and covered a few spots on his wrists that were more conspicuous to a keen eye.
The view of an empty living room was the first to open up as he made the flight downstairs. Twin windows framed the walls both left and right, sky blue curtains drawn open. Facing the TV directly ahead was a worn couch in the middle of the room. An assortment of blankets draped over the faded merlot upholstery. An old episode of a comedy show was playing. The glass top coffee table had a laptop sitting open on it, along with an empty mug with a silver spoon still inside. A cased opening in the wall to the right of the TV led into the kitchen where the source of the delicious smell was, as well as other sounds of life. Ludwig approached it slowly, like one would an open tiger pen.
The broad profile of Ivan's back stood behind the island counter, hunched over the sink that was too low for his height. Despite the loudness of running water, clattering pans, and the steady clamor of the TV volume, Ivan must have detected his presence. He turned around and his face brightened at the sight of Ludwig.
"Good morning!" The man sounded much too enthusiastic for someone who had just been doing the dishes by hand. He shut off the tap and reached for a cloth on the counter. "Or should I say, good afternoon?"
Ludwig's mental CPU was already malfunctioning on a critical level, but this sight alone was enough to send his brain into a full hardware reset. In the backdrop of this homely little kitchen, Ivan looked to be glowing. For a single moment in time that felt stretched to eternity, he was robbed of breath by the overwhelming realization of just how achingly handsome Ivan was. It was a delusion, a mere trick of the light. Not because sunlight filtered in through sheer material over the window above the sink, transforming his tousled locks into a bright, golden halo. Not because he wore a knit jumper of cream and coffee-brown, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Not because of the way beads of water glistened on his forearms, how the simplest act of drying his hands was enough to stir the ripple of muscle beneath tanned skin, unbidden and powerful. It certainly was not because of how he acted like he was blind to how terrible Ludwig must be looking: gaunt, red-eyed and shirt blotchy with wet spots from his still damp hair.
"I'm, uh—" Ludwig broke their eye contact as the man drew closer. He was certain his face would explode out of embarrassment. "I suppose it is quite late." Very astute, Beilschmidt. Why don't you start calculating the exact position of the sun while you're at it. "I'm sorry, I'll be out of your hair very soon. The nearest bus stop is—"
"Not so fast. Drink this first." A cup suddenly materialized under his nose, sloshing a frightfully sour, yellow liquid inside. Ludwig choked on the smell, reeling from the unexpected astringent punch to his olfactory nerves.
"W-what is it?" he spluttered, trying to back away.
"Pickle juice," answered Ivan, straight-faced. "It helps, I promise."
Having just brushed his teeth, the combination of pickle juice and menthol was not a delightful mix. Nonetheless, he downed it all while the perpetrator stood nodding with satisfaction.
"Very good," Ivan said, as if he took giant swigs of vinegar on the daily and this was nothing to him. "You will start feeling better soon. Have some water too."
Ludwig eagerly accepted it, wanting to wash the terrible, pickley toothpaste flavor out of his mouth as soon as possible. To his surprise, he began feeling more hydrated than when he'd taken his first sip of water after opening his eyes. "That... is better," he admitted reluctantly.
"It's an old trick I learned a long time ago. Much cheaper than most hangover medicines you buy from the shop." Ivan took the cups to the sink. "Anyway, won't you stay a little longer? I made borscht." He gestured to the giant pot simmering away on the stove. "Also good for hangovers, but it's mostly just comfort food."
"I think I've caused enough trouble for you to last a lifetime. I couldn't possibly stay any longer."
"Then let me at least feed you before you go," insisted Ivan. "I'd hate to send you off on an empty stomach."
Ludwig couldn't argue with that—or rather, his incessant hunger couldn't. A part of him was begging his feet to turn around and walk out the door. Instead he allowed himself to be ushered further inside, until he was sitting down at the small round table on the other side of Ivan's quaint little kitchen.
While waiting for Ivan to fill their bowls, Ludwig checked his phone again. He discovered he still hadn't replied to Alfred yet. With his battery at 8%, he tapped out a message explaining how he'd spent the night at Ivan's place, that he was alive and well and was planning to have lunch before heading back home.
Alfred's three typing dots popped up instantly like he'd been standing watch over his inbox the entire day.
? What thefuck ur still there?What about ralph
His fingers tightened around his phone at the sight of his boyfriend's name.
I'll have enough time to get back before tomorrow.
Bruh, was all Alfred had to say to that. He soon began typing again but Ludwig turned off his phone to save the battery for when he'll need to retrieve bus updates later.
The soup was hearty and brimming with flavor. Ivan also brought out plain toast with jam and butter, along with orange juice and water. "I confess it's not the prettiest lunch spread, but it will be filling."
"Thank you," said Ludwig. "This is delicious."
"I'm very glad to hear."
Ludwig felt eyes on the crown of his head and tried his best to remain nonchalant as he ate. He wondered if Ivan was angry. He hadn't yet expressed gratitude for being allowed to crash overnight. He had no idea how or why he was here in the first place, and didn't know how to breach that question without stirring the pot even further.
However, he couldn't let these worries distract him from the biggest problem at hand, which was that he'd somehow managed to inconvenience Ivan yet again. As long that this fact stayed true, his own self-preservation instincts were secondary. Ludwig scraped the bottom of his bowl clean and cleared his throat. "Listen, about yesterday..."
"About yesterday indeed," said Ivan cheerfully. He had barely touched his own food. "Your friend called me on your phone. He said that something incredibly urgent came up and that you needed a ride."
"Urgent? Was he okay?" Ludwig strained to remember the muffled gibberish Alfred had yelled in his ear.
"Yes, there was no problem." Ivan hadn't taken his eyes off him once, as if he struggled to find the answer to a very complicated puzzle written on Ludwig's face. "He forgot his friend's luggage at the airport, and it was about to be shipped back to London. He said he had to sign it off as soon as possible."
One only had to meet Arthur Kirkland once to appreciate his tremendous personality. Even though he was all bark and no bite, it was still understandable why Alfred had to punch it all the way back to the airport.
"I'm really sorry, I don't know what got into me. I'm usually good at pacing myself."
"Ah, it happens," said Ivan. "I also forget my own limits every now and then, so I understand." He hadn't changed in his relaxed posture nor his tone, but Ludwig still felt bizarrely guilty. Perhaps it was the discovery that he had the gall to lie to the man in his own house. It was true his night out with Alfred had been fun, but the unorthodox number of beers he'd consumed had been a pitiful attempt to drown his sorrows, not to have a good time.
"I should have known better. And you... you took care of me last night."
"...Sure," Ivan agreed, tilting his head almost imperceptibly. "I suppose I did, in a way."
"I apologize. I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am about it."
Ivan's lack of immediate response was frightening. Eventually, he opened his mouth to ask, "Are you?" and Ludwig felt his back stiffen at once.
"Y-yes," he stammered automatically. "Yes, of—of course I am..."
Two words from Ivan and he was frozen solid, petrified in his chair. Had he not sounded guilty enough? Would it have been better to say it tearfully? Should he have gotten on his knees and begged? "I-I don't know what happened." He was used to hearing this kind of verbal entrapment from Ralph on a weekly basis. Apologies met with rhetorical questions, derogatory remarks, sarcastic affirmations. Things that only served to make him repeat himself, desperate to prove how sorry he was. "I was with Alfred all night, we had drinks... and then suddenly I'm waking up in your house and Alfred's gone and I don't understand why I'm here. Please, I swear—"
"Ludwig!" Ivan cut in hastily. "I didn't mean it that way. My apologies." He had straightened up in his seat, eyes wide with concern. "I did not phrase it well. It's just that we... how do I say..." He trailed off, apparently lost in some deep thought. Eventually he shook his head. "No. What's important is that you are safe and sound, and bringing you home was no trouble at all. You have nothing to be sorry about."
There had been no trace of threatening intent in Ivan's question, not an ounce of derision or mockery. The cognitive dissonance threw him in for a loop, but through all of this Ludwig still remembered seeing the nest of pillows and blankets on the couch in the living room. The coals of shame burned even hotter. "I kicked you out of your own bed," he pointed out, mortified.
"Not a problem. My couch is very optimal to camp out on." Given Ivan's height and build, it couldn't have been comfortable in the slightest. And yet Ludwig heard the smile in his voice, as if his words were a true reflection of what he meant. He reached across the tiny round table to settle a hand upon Ludwig's shoulder. An act of false reassurances. A genuine expression of sympathy. Whatever the intentions were, there it stayed feather light and grounded him.
"You shouldn't bring strangers into your house so easily," Ludwig croaked, the joke falling flat even to his own ears. His palms were damp with anxious sweat, but he was rapidly melting under the simple contact. The initial panic was subsiding to a small afterthought as Ivan's hand seemed to be actively absorbing the tension out of his muscles.
"Not a stranger. You are always welcome here," Ivan said gently. "No matter the circumstance."
He began rubbing Ludwig's shoulder in a delicate, soothing manner. If the man's kindness was truly counterfeit, then he was a professional handler of mishandled animals. In that moment, Ludwig wanted nothing more than to pretend that this make-believe generosity was real.
"Thank you," he muttered. "For picking me up on such short notice, I mean. And the food and everything, I just..." He waved his hand uselessly. "Can't seem to figure out why it was all necessary."
"You really don't remember anything?" Ivan asked. Ludwig dare to look up at him. The man looked... disappointed, almost. Ludwig felt weirdly chastised by it, as if he'd forgotten something very important. The hand on his shoulder was retracted as Ivan visibly pondered over something that went over Ludwig's head. He was too busy lamenting the absence of Ivan's touch, the place of contact already feeling cold and barren.
"Please don't get the wrong idea. I first went to the address your friend gave me, but it was a digital lock and you had no keys on you. You were too out of it to tell me the passcode so I brought you here."
Christ almighty. Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose. "A lifetime supply of coffee will not be enough," he groaned. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how to fix this."
"Fix what? There is nothing to fix," Ivan said innocently. "Except for maybe my Keurig."
"I'm not very capable of many things, but please if there's any favor I can do to pay you back..."
"Well, it is Saturday," Ivan said. "I would love to spend some more time with you today. Unless you need to be elsewhere?"
He really did, and there wasn't enough time. They were diving well into three o'clock and Ralph was returning tomorrow evening. The list of things he still had left to do was monumental. He needed to go over his revised itinerary, practice it in his head so that he could recite it on command. He had to think of replacement activities to fill the gaps in time, which was the time he spent with Alfred and Ivan. He needed to do the laundry, make their bed. Wash the cup Alfred would have left in their sink. Dust and vacuum all the surfaces and fix the couch cushions. Deodorize every space behind a door. Prepare Ralph's favorite teriyaki chicken casserole. Leave out his prized bottle of Patrón En Lalique on their fully set dining table.
He needed to wash up all over again in their shower and groom himself, for Ralph would inevitably want him bare and spread. He needed ample time to prepare himself, as a whole week had passed since they last shared a bed and he didn't want to bleed on fresh sheets.
A whole week was only seven days. Such a long time had never felt so short. It had to end at some point, but Ivan had a severe, mellowing effect on his iron will. He wanted to cling to the last fleeting moments of this transient fantasy for as long as he could.
Whether he stayed or left now, he supposed an extra hour or so wasn't going to make a difference in the end.
"Okay," he relented. "But let me at least do the dishes."
Ivan grinned. "Can't complain about that." His hair bounced with the momentum of rising from his chair and reminded Ludwig of a giant, fluffy dog.
After putting away clean bowls and cutlery, Ludwig passed by the sad Keurig collecting dust next to the microwave. After giving it a few cursory glances, he asked Ivan for a flathead driver and gutted it down to its components. When he put it back together and pressed the button, it sputtered and hummed back to life. It was a relatively simple fix—it was amazing, Ludwig! How did you know to do that?—but it felt good to use his hands again. When something broke in Ralph's house, it got replaced before Ludwig had the chance to try and troubleshoot the problem.
They went to the living room and tidied up the makeshift bed on the couch. Ludwig went upstairs to pull everything off Ivan's mattress despite the man's insistence that they didn't need washing. When the washing machine was full, he helped fold the load in the dryer.
It was comfortable sitting in front of the couch, stacking someone else's towels and listening to Ivan talk about the shows he watched to practice his English. They continued working through the pile of unfolded laundry, which was rapidly growing smaller and smaller in their combined efforts.
"I can't say I've watched all of Friends," Ludwig said, watching the people on TV speak through a continuous laughter track. "I binged five seasons of CSI during midterms one semester with other classmates, including Alfred. We watched some British shows as well, but I can't remember what they were."
"You seem very close with Alfred. Have you known him for long?"
"I guess. We took a lot of courses together in university before he left to pursue what he wanted. His part—I mean, his friend in England does toxicology work for his degree. Sometimes Alfred acts as courier for supplies between Oxford and the American labs."
"Having connections is helpful. Is he having to pay for bringing extra items onboard?"
"I don't think so. He is the captain, after all." Ludwig remembered the days when he'd laughed tremendously at the thought of associating Alfred with such a title. In the present, where the trials and tribulations of adult life had sobered them both, it didn't seem so ludicrous anymore. No matter what anyone said or thought, Alfred had matured greatly. That much was obvious from their time together yesterday evening.
"You seem to bruise very easily," Ivan noted. He was looking down to where Ludwig's legs were splayed across the carpet and his jeans had ridden up to expose his ankle. "Are you getting enough nutrients?"
"It's just a small jogging injury," Ludwig lied, quickly adjusting his position to sit cross-legged. "Happens when you go running every morning."
"You are very dedicated to your exercise," Ivan commented. "It is admirable. I'm afraid I haven't been as diligent ever since I retired."
"What sort of work did you do?" Ludwig asked. He'd be lying if he hadn't been curious for a long time.
"What do you think?" Ivan asked playfully. Ludwig carefully studied the man top to bottom, wracking his brain for a profession that would suit someone like him.
"Some type of security?" he guessed, having nothing to go on except for Ivan's broad, imposing physique.
"Sort of," Ivan said, smiling. "I was in the army."
Ludwig fell silent as he digested this information.
"Does this bother you?" Ivan asked.
Knowing Ralph, a Navy SEAL, Ludwig was naturally acquainted with several of his friends in the industry. Every one of them had exhibited similar traits of obscene, cruel vulgarity. It was no exaggeration to say that Ivan was unlike all other military men he'd had the displeasure of meeting. "No," he decided finally. "It doesn't."
Ivan beamed.
The minutes flew by when he wasn't alone in the vastness of Ralph's empty purgatory of a house. The light was already beginning to dim outside as the early February days faded into dusk. Ludwig didn't want this day to end. Ivan asked him to stay for dinner.
Food was to be whatever random ingredients they found in Ivan's fridge: leftover vegetables from the earlier borscht, two cans of tomato sauce, and a box of linguini in the cupboard. There was also a variety of meats wrapped in plastic in the freezer, which were all brought out to defrost. Ivan dug through a box of old cables and found a charger for Ludwig's phone, which he left plugged into the wall beside the TV as they prepared a frankenstein spaghetti. Ivan brought out a bottle of wine. Ludwig didn't hesitate to accept a glass or three to accompany his meal.
"I hope you are pleased with yourself," Ivan grumbled as they returned to the living room after washing the plates. "Ruining a perfectly good bolognese."
"Fixing it, you mean," Ludwig said, raising an eyebrow. "Who in their right mind would think of fish as a pasta topping?"
"Anchovies are delicious," Ivan said seriously as he refilled each of their glasses. "I will have you trying them on everything one day."
"Good luck with that," Ludwig returned. "At least your taste in hard liquor's passable."
"Well thank heavens, my Russian license is not yet revoked," Ivan drawled. Ludwig suddenly erupted with audible laughter.
"You have an entire display cabinet dedicated to different brands of vodka 'round the world and you're worried about not fitting the stereotype?"
"Those were gifts," Ivan admitted sheepishly. "Get-well gifts, actually. I don't know what else to do with them."
"Seriously? They couldn't have put a little more effort into it?"
"It does seem rather counterproductive." Ivan shrugged. "It's the thought that counts so I do not mind."
Ludwig snorted into his near-empty glass. "How considerate of you."
"For what it's worth, I prefer wine."
They were sitting on the couch, close enough that Ludwig could distinguish the individual threads in Ivan's knit sweater. The incandescence of the living room lights ignited the color in Ivan's eyes, flickering to and fro as his gaze traveled across invisible checkpoints on Ludwig's face before settling on his mouth. Ludwig watched as Ivan swallowed, the bump of his Adam's apple sliding up and down languidly. Their thighs had already been touching for quite some time now. Ivan adjusted himself on the couch, and it just so happened that the length of his entire leg pressed snugly against Ludwig's own.
The broad area of contact was far from alarming; in fact, his body welcomed the sensation. It was a snapshot of this moment—a tangible memento, the only thing of Ivan's he could safely bring with him back to his old routine.
"What are you thinking about?" Ivan asked. The wine didn't seem to be having any effect on him. Meanwhile, Ludwig was feeling buoyant in the static buzz, just enough to make him feel safe and cozy between the frayed cushions that were swallowing him whole.
Bruises and painkillers, sweeping glass shards off the floor. The barrel of a gun strapped to his head, pulling the trigger with every breath he took. Lying awake in bed and thinking of the bag hidden behind white towels. The metronomic loop of days stuck in perpetual limbo while the rest of the world marched on ahead.
"How exhausting it must be," he replied lightly. "To be you, I mean. It's not easy being this generous to everyone."
The man's eyebrow twitched. "Yes, that would be very exhausting," he agreed. "Which is why I am not."
"And humble, on top of everything else."
"I think you misunderstand," Ivan said politely. "I may be those things, but only for you."
"What do you mean?"
"You are correct in what you said before. I don't just bring anyone home after they've pushed their drinking limits."
"Well, I would hope not," Ludwig said, frowning.
"...Yes, which is why—"
"Not unless you started charging by the hour."
Ivan blinked rapidly, then burst into a fit of giggles. "Sometimes you say the most unexpected things."
"How so? This place isn't a lodging service. You shouldn't be expected to provide amenities for free."
"I don't, Ludwig. That's the point I'm trying to make." Ivan's amusement was contagious enough to pull at the corners of Ludwig's mouth yet again that evening.
"Good, then."
Before either of them could get another quip in, Ludwig's phone buzzed noisily against the TV stand he'd left it charging on. The name wasn't one he expected to see again so soon, but he supposed this person didn't need a good reason to harass him with calls.
"Sorry, gotta take this. Hello, Gilbert," Ludwig answered, still smiling as he plopped back down on the couch. "How are you?"
"What kind of bullshit are you up to?" As always, his brother wasted no time getting to his brazen point. "Jones just called me asking if I heard from you."
Now that was some news. There was no reason for Alfred to go to Gilbert when they had been texting each other this afternoon. "Okay? I talked to him earlier though. Sorry he bothered you, but it was unnecessary."
"He said you were with a friend. Are you at Feli's?"
"Don't be ridiculous, 'course I'm not. I'm at Ivan's, the friend from coffee I told you about."
"The hell are you doing at that bastard's place?" Gilbert's question was posed so loudly that Ludwig had to adjust his phone to the other ear, lest Ivan overheard. "Do you know how goddamn late it's getting?"
"We just had dinner. 'Course I'm aware."
"Why are you having dinner with him? And why do you sound like that?"
"I'm spending time with a friend," Ludwig replied, irritated. "Y'know, 'cause that's what friends do."
"You're slurring, what the fuck—are you DRUNK?"
"No, Jesus, I only had a few glasses of wine, not enough to—"
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?" Gilbert had begun screaming so loudly that anyone standing in the farthest corner of the living room could have heard every syllable. "DID HE TOUCH YOU? DO YOU FEEL ILL? ARE YOU IN HIS ROOM? ANSWER ME!"
"What? No. No." All traces of the relaxed contentment vanished from Ludwig's mood, taking the soft tipsiness of alcohol with it. Sure enough, Ivan was staring at him, his own expression rigid with shock. "He—we didn't—"
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW, I'M CALLING THE COPS! I'M GONNA KILL THAT SON OF A—"
"Brother, please!" Ludwig cried, panic lacing his voice as he gripped his phone with whitened knuckles. "Please calm down. Nothing happened and I'm perfectly sober, I promise. I'm going home now, so don't call anyone and stay put. I said do not, under any circumstance, call anyone. Understand?"
"Why can't you ever just—..." The following pause was uncharacteristic of Gilbert who never took any time to reconsider his words. "Verdammte Scheiße! I won't if you tell me you'll never set foot in that house again. I swear to fucking God, if that scoundrel laid a SINGLE finger—"
Ludwig ended the call before Gilbert could elaborate. Whatever implications were about to be spoken, he didn't think he could bear to hear it.
Next to him, Ivan had gone so still that it didn't even look like he was breathing. "Are you all right?" he asked, very softly. The TV was playing another episode of Friends and the jovial audience swelled in uproarious laughter. Both men were completely deaf to it.
"Yes," Ludwig managed, shell-shocked. His ears were still ringing with the aftermaths of Gilbert's explosive outburst. He could barely remember why he'd been laughing before.
"...I didn't mean to force you to stay." Ivan's stricken gaze was proof enough that he meant it. He was sliding out of his seat, creating further distance between themselves so that their legs were no longer touching. "If that's how I came off, I'm sor—"
"No, please—!" Ludwig's hand flew out to grab Ivan's wrist. He was acting on pure instincts alone, desperate to stop the man from leaving him. It worked and Ivan ceased all movements at once. "I wanted to. I promise I wanted... I want to stay here for as long as I can. You did nothing wrong, it's just a misunderstanding. Please believe me."
"I believe you," Ivan reassured. He rested his own hand atop Ludwig's, thumb rubbing small circles into the vice-like grip. "But it's true that I have kept you for a little too long."
"It's all just a misunderstanding," Ludwig whispered again. Gilbert's paranoid tendencies had been a long standing enemy of his. The current mess was spilt solely between him and his brother. It was not fair to drag an innocent man into the crossfire.
Ivan had slipped his fingers into the spaces between Ludwig's own. There he squeezed lightly and covered their conjoined fists with his other hand. "Thank you for sharing your time with me today," he said earnestly. "I enjoyed every minute of it."
This wasn't how he wanted to part ways. He hadn't yet explained how he wouldn't be able to answer calls, or reply to texts... Until he pulled that bag out from behind Ralph's towels, he wasn't going to see Ivan again. In the midst of his numbness, the silliest urge to cry had suddenly lurched itself to the forefront of Ludwig's emotions. "As did I," he choked, desperately trying to memorize every dip and curve of Ivan's steady hands one last time. "I should be going home now."
"Of course," said Ivan, nodding. "Will you let me drop you off?"
Swallowing back the wetness that threatened to overflow, Ludwig shook his head. "I think I'll ask Alfred... if you don't mind."
"Not at all," Ivan said immediately. "Please give him both my address and phone number, should he ever feel the need to contact me again. Your brother can have them too if he wants."
If Gilbert ever found out where Ivan lived, the next time Ludwig saw his brother would be in court for attempted murder. Heart in mouth and hands trembling with effort, Ludwig typed the address into his phone and sent it along to Alfred only. It only took six seconds for his friend to reply:
Heading over now.